Photo Prompt Writing Challenge
by KekahJ
Summary: These are the one-shots that I write weekly for a photo prompt blog ran by Burntcore. The picture prompts can be found at picprompt dot blogspot dot com. Some of these are Twi related, some are not. Each chapter is a new one-shot. :
1. Chapter 1: The Deep Blue Sea

**A/N: I've been writing these weekly since October, so I have a few of them to post. I plan to post a few a day until I get caught up. I hope that doesn't annoy anyone too much. Sorry in advance if it does... :(**

**This one is not Twi-related, but hopefully you enjoy it anyway. It's a slight departure from the norm for me. Thanks for reading. :)**

The Deep Blue Sea

The sun was almost blinding as it reflected off of the still water that stretched as far as the eye could see in any direction. He blinked in the almost harsh light as he surfaced from below deck, mug of strong coffee in hand.

Even after having been at sea for two days now, it still took him a moment to get his bearings when he surfaced each morning. He was determined not to use the compass though. Whether he liked it or not, he was a sailor now and he needed to start to think like one.

The cruel, taunting words of his father echoed in his head and he mentally pushed them down, determined not to let them deter him. This was his boat, even if his father had paid for it and practically forced him onto it, it was his. He would not fail.

He stared out across the rail into the ocean and thought for the thousandth time how ironic it was that he was here, given how much he hated the ocean. He hated everything about it. In fact, if he was being honest, he hated water in general.

Someone stirred behind him, pulling him from his musings, and he turned to see his first mate winding up the rope that was part of the deck's massive rigging.

"Morning, Captain Barlowe," the young man nodded to him, as usual never quite making eye contact.

"Good morning Mr. Hanson. Were you on duty all night?" he asked. He immediately wished he hadn't asked that question. As captain, his crew's duty schedule was something he should know. It was too late to cover up his mistake though. He saw the disdain in the other man's eyes as he nodded.

Captain Barlowe lifted his chin and stared down his nose at the mate for a moment before moving on down the deck. Deep down he knew it wasn't fair to treat the man this way, but it was the only way he knew to maintain his dominance over his crew. A crew that had been bought and paid for by his father, not hand selected by himself, as was traditionally done.

A little further on, his second mate was busying himself readying the sails to be unfurled for the day. He nodded curtly to him, but said nothing as he passed. He passed a few more men whose names he couldn't recall before he finally reached the dining room.

Like the rest of the quarters belonging to the captain, the dining suite was richly appointed with fine tapestries hanging from the wall and soft, plush carpeting beneath his feet. It was in stark contrast to the rest of the ship which. He sighed heavily and sat down at the head of the mahogany table, grateful that he'd soon have something in his belly besides the strong, acidic coffee that was now churning in his stomach.

After a few moments, he furrowed his brow in confusion. Normally by now his meal was in front of him. What could possibly be the hold up this morning? Annoyed, he pushed away from the table and crossed the room to the door that led to the ship's kitchen. He was even more puzzled when he found it completely empty and devoid of the wonderful smells and sounds of food being prepared that it should be filled with at this hour.

"Hanson!" he shouted, stepping back into the dining room.

It was a few moments before the first mate appeared. "Yes Captain?"

"Please go and find out where Cook is, and more importantly where my breakfast is," he said tersely.

Instead of jumping to action like the captain expected, Hanson continued to stand in front of him, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other.

"Is there a problem?" Captain Barlowe asked, his voice measured.

"Well, begging your pardon, sir, but if you'll recall the cook spoke to you yesterday about the food shortage. We're on rations now."

The captain's face contorted for a moment before he worked to smooth his features once more and place a patient smile upon his lips. "Yes, I recall the discussion. However, I was unaware that it extended to myself."

Hanson's eyes grew wide and once again the captain could see hatred flash in them before he recovered himself and nodded. "I'll go speak to the cook, sir."

Captain Barlowe shook his head at the situation and began pacing across the soft, thick carpet as he waited for his meal. Behind the closed door to the kitchen, he could hear the cook banging around as he began to prepare the captain's meal. To think that the crew actually thought that he, the captain, would go without food. The idea was preposterous.

He smiled as the cook finally entered the room, tray heavy with food. The captain sat down and picked up his fork.

"Now that's more like it!" he exclaimed as he shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth. The cook eyed him but said nothing as he set the tray down and left the room.

A short time later, he was full almost to bursting as he made he way across the deck. He rubbed his stomach absentmindedly as he looked out across the water. How he hated the ocean. He wondered when they'd finally make land. He would have asked someone, but again, this was something that he probably should already know. His thoughts turned to his bed as he pondered taking a nap before lunch.

He was so busy planning out the rest of his nap filled and food laden day, that he didn't even feel the rope slip across his legs. Before he knew it, he was dangling upside down by his ankles, suspended from the ship's massive lower yard. His head swam and his stomach churned, still full from his recent meal.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw several crew members approaching him. Embarrassed but grateful, he called out to them. "You there! I seem to have gotten my feet tangled in this rope. Who left this about? That was very careless, very careless indeed. Well, no matter. Help me down now." As he finished speaking he noticed that none of them were springing to his aid as he'd expected. Instead, they were standing, arms folded across their chests, watching him. So they wanted to have a little fun at his expense, did they? Fine.

"Okay, yes. It's all very funny. Your captain has gotten himself tangled up. Ha ha. Let's all have a good laugh about it..." he trailed off as he saw more men approaching. In fact, men were coming up from below deck. For the first time, his stomach twisted in fear. What was going on?

Hanson stepped forward. "Did you enjoy your breakfast, Captain Barlowe?" he asked, his voice twisting his name and making it sound like a dirty word.

Captain Barlowe gulped. "Why yes, I did, thank you." He paused as realization dawned. "I'm sure you're all a little hungry, and I'm sorry about that, but cook has assured me that you'll have a wonderful meal in no time. Now come on. Cut me down. We're wasting time. Some of you have duty posts to be manning!" he cried, a note of desperation in his voice.

Hanson smiled, but it was more like a leering grin than a true smile. He stepped forward and pulled his knife from his belt. But instead of cutting the captain loose, he turned to the second mate who had also stepped forward, another length of rope in hand.

Quicker than a flash, the second mate wrapped the rope deftly around the captain's arms and torso, binding him tightly. Captain Barlowe thrashed and fought, but it was no good. He was outnumbered, and these men were strong. The kind of strength that comes from spending your life aboard a ship lugging heavy ropes and sails around all day. The kind of strong he was not.

"We're not going to sit by and let you eat all the food while the rest of us starve," Hanson sneered, his face inches from the captain's. "This is what we call a mutiny!" he cried and with a flourish of his knife, he severed the rope that was holding the captain aloft. Arms bound helplessly to his sides, the captain hit the deck hard, head first. He blinked as the world grew smaller and smaller and blackness closed in.

When he came to again, he was still bound tightly, arms to his side. However, as he thrashed around helplessly, he discovered that he now lay on some sort of wide board, the ropes binding him securely to it. He peered at the men gathered around, desperate to find a sympathetic face; someone who would realize he hadn't really been that bad of a captain, or even someone who would just take pity on him. He found no such person amongst the crowd. Instead he found only the haggard, weather beaten faces of men who had known only endless days of back-breaking, hard labor their entire lives. The kind of work he had never known and never been forced to endure, even for a day. No, he would receive no sympathy here.

Despair gripped him, and he found himself babbling in order to try and save himself. He wasn't even sure of the words that were spilling forth from his mouth as he pleaded with them. His cries fell on deaf ears. This was a jaded crew and he'd never fit in with these men from the beginning. But he now realized that when he had refused to assimilate and become like them he'd isolated himself completely. Then when he'd refused to endure the hardships they were forced to withstand, like food rations, he'd signed his death warrant.

Two of the biggest men in the crowd hoisted the board up over the side of the ship. Terror gripped him as he realized what his final fate would be. He would die amongst the waves that he despised so much. He would spend eternity in the very ocean that he had hated his entire life.

He screamed as the icy tendrils of water lapped at his toes and then up his legs. The board hit the water with a final splash, and for a moment it floated, suspended on the surface of the water. In that moment, he let himself hope that he might make it. Could he lie on that board and float to land? He almost dared to believe he could. But then, slowly, the board began to tip and he felt the water make its way through his clothes and skin and it seemed even to seep into his bones.

The board slipped further and further into the water and it wasn't long before he was surrounded by nothing but blue. The only sounds were his gurgling and garbled screams and soon even those went silent as he sunk further and further into the hateful, dreadful deep blue sea that claimed him at last.


	2. Chapter 2: Strangers

**A/N: RWWC readers, you might notice some similarities between this little one shot and our Bella and Edward. ;)**

Strangers

He sat smoothing his hands over the orange fabric that covered his thighs as he waited, the chains that bound his wrists making a soft clinking sound. He took a deep breath and released it in a sudden puff as she finally walked through the door. He smiled at her, but it was the bronze haired boy she carried on her hip that really made him grin.

"Hi," he said softly as she sat down, setting the little boy down on the bench next to her.

"Hi," she answered, her voice distracted as she dug around in the diaper bag.

"How have you been? I've missed you," he said, trying to catch her eye. The baby started to whimper and he looked at child helplessly, unsure of what to do. He stretched out his hands hesitantly, but was stopped as usual by the chains that bound his hands. He pulled them back and rubbed his wrists again absentmindedly, the sting of metal at his wrists dull compared to the pain in his heart.

She sighed and plunked down a handful of brightly colored Legos in front of the boy who immediately squealed, clapped his hands, and snatched a couple of them up in his chubby fists. She smiled at him and kissed the top of his head as she ruffled his hair. The boy grinned up at his mother.

He sighed, his heart heavy. How easy it was for her to appease the child. This boy, his own flesh and blood, was practically a stranger to him. He had no idea how to soothe him, how to make him smile, or even what his favorite toys were.

Three years was a long time.


	3. Chapter 3: Compelled

**A/N: Thanks for reading. :)**

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

Compelled

The sun was only just beginning the peek over the hilltop, but already the beach was full. There was the usual assortment: surfers hefting colorful boards over their shoulders as they sought to be the one to catch the perfect wave, runners in their skin tight spandex and cross-trainers pounding the damp sand in their quest for physical perfection, and the sun worshipers already splayed across huge towels as they oiled their skin and paid homage to their fiery god of the sky.

But none of these were what caught her eye as she gazed across the beach from her perch on the railing of the beach house's wrap-around porch. It was the third morning she'd watched him, blond hair blown back as he ran along the beach with his dog. She smiled as he lobbed a stick into the water and the dog cantered into the foaming surf after it.

The first morning she'd been out on the porch by accident, simply retrieving the paper, when she'd noticed him running by. She was pretty sure he hadn't even seen her, but somehow just watching him made her calmer. There was something about the lean muscles that rippled across his arms and chest as he ran. Something about the way his wavy blond hair moved in the breeze. Something about the almost musical laugh that seemed to come so easily. Watching him from a distance made her feel more relaxed than she'd felt in a long time.

The next morning she'd taken her coffee out to the porch, telling herself that she should watch at least one sunrise during her time at the beach. She'd been staying in her friend's beach house for nearly a week and hadn't seen the sun rise even once. So she'd taken a hot mug of coffee and planted herself on the porch. To her delight, he'd been there again and once more, something about him had intrigued her. She'd watched him from a distance for nearly forty minutes while he ran up and down the beach throwing a stick for the big brown lab that ran by his side. She'd even laughed when, at one point, he followed the dog into the surf and the pair of them swam and wrestled in the frothy water.

This morning, she had to face the fact that she had been drawn out onto the porch to try and see him again. Once more she'd felt oddly relieved when she saw him, as if she'd been unable to really breathe until that moment. There was a tiny voice inside her that was screaming that she was insane to feel that way. She'd never even spoken to him. He didn't even know she existed; yet she couldn't deny the effect he had on her, no matter how inexplicable it was. Watching him was like a calming balm to her anxious soul.

She could hear the dog's excited barks from where she sat sipping her coffee, wrapping her hands around the mug, enjoying its warmth in the chill morning air. She sighed, reveling in the strange calm watching him brought her.

After a while, she leaned back against the clapboard siding, effortlessly balancing herself on the porch railing, and closed her eyes. The sun warmed her cheeks as it rose higher in the sky. Opening her eyes again, she scanned the beach. Where had he gone? Had he left and she'd missed it? There were now several other dogs loping along the sand, but none of them were the big floppy-eared chocolate lab that was his. Panic began to swell in her chest as she sat up, leaning forward on the railing, trying to get a better view of the beach.

She nearly lost her balance, almost pitched forward into the sand, when she felt the wet nose on the back of her leg. Startled, she turned and grinned when she came face to face with the big brown eyes and lolling tongue of the very chocolate lab she'd been searching for.

"JB!"

She turned to see him striding up the porch steps towards her. Her heart skipped a beat. He was even more gorgeous close-up.

"Sorry, JB, come on!" he said, patting his thigh in an attempt to get the dog's attention.

But it was no use. The dog plopped down by her feet. She laughed and scratched his soft velvety ears. "Hey buddy, how's it going?" she said, running her hand along the dog's soft flank.

"He likes you," the blond boy said, grinning at her.

She looked up at him, her breath catching in her throat as she took in his brilliant smile. She cleared her throat self consciously and said, "He seems like a great dog."

He nodded. "He is." He paused, then stuck his hand out. "I'm Jasper, by the way."

She grinned and clasped his hand, secretly loving the feel of his hand in hers. Like everything else about him, it somehow calmed her, and she suddenly craved more. "I'm Alice. Nice to meet you." There was an awkward pause and then she added, "Do you want some coffee?" she asked.

"Sure, if you don't mind. That'd be great." He shrugged and smiled sheepishly.

A few minutes later, they were seated around the small whitewash table, both clutching steaming cups of coffee, JB curled around Jasper's feet. They chatted, and Alice was surprised at how easily she opened up to him, telling him things that she normally kept private and guarded.

As she realized this, she became embarrassed, worried that she was being too forward. "I'm sorry," she said, staring into her coffee. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this. I guess I just feel comfortable with you. Like I know you. Does that sound crazy?" She hazarded a glance at him, afraid of what she'd find in his expression. She was shocked to see him shaking his head, blond hair falling in his eyes.

"No, Alice. Don't apologize. I know exactly what you mean. I find myself wanting to tell you everything about me too. I feel..." he faded off as he searched for the right word.

"Compelled." The word was said in unison and they both grinned sheepishly at each other.

Alice didn't know what the future held, but she was sure that she wanted Jasper to be a part of it.


	4. Chapter 4: Love

**Love**

She stared down at the small blue paper in her hand. The word looked up at her mockingly. If she hadn't been so angry she would have taken the time to appreciate the intricate workmanship involved in crafting the paper. It really was amazing, she finally grudgingly admitted to herself. She allowed herself to wonder briefly about how he had done it. The words looked almost as if they had been burned into the paper, but she couldn't figure out how. He had always been so creative and good with his hands.

It seemed so innocent. Just a tiny scrap of bright blue paper. It had fluttered lightly out of the envelope that had been stuck underneath her windshield wiper blade. She'd found it this morning when she came out to go to work. And to think, the morning had started out so promising. She'd actually managed to wake up, shower, and get ready without having a breakdown.

But now, as she stood here in the street, the blue paper lifting slightly and fluttering lightly in the cool breeze, she felt the panic swelling inside her. There was nothing else inside the envelope. No signature, no note of explanation, but she didn't need one to know who it was from. She could almost smell him on the bright blue paper.

She clenched her fist in anger, crumpling the blue paper, ruining the amazingly intricate design. A sob that had been lodged in her throat escaped as a strangled, choking cry. She opened her hand and sobbed again as she saw that the paper was destroyed. It fell to the ground, now just an unremarkable blue lump.

With another anguished cry, she collapsed onto the ground, becoming as useless as the blue paper was now.


	5. Chapter 5: Oasis

**Oasis**

The sun was hot on their backs as they picked their way through the dense foliage. The morning fog that had kept them cool all morning had finally burned up and disappeared. Since then the day had grown steadily warmer until it was now almost sweltering. Now that the sun was out in full force, they found themselves slowly removing the layers of clothing that had shielded them from the early morning chill.

They stopped, breathing heavily as they pulled out their water bottles and took long draws from them, hands on hips as they squinted in the sun. After a few moments they decided to continue, the promise of what lay ahead fueling their steps.

It wasn't long before the sweat began to fall, pooling in dark circles at the smalls of their backs and behind their knees. They wiped it from their eyes and pushed forward.

Looking ahead, they searched for any sign of relief, the air rippling in the heat. Stopping again, they emptied their water bottles, finishing the last drops but still wanting more. Now it was even more crucial that they reach their destination.

They continued on, relentless in the pursuit of their goal. Water bottles drained, sweat drenched, and tired, they marched on, slashing through the underbrush.

They had nearly given up, were contemplating turning back, when they stopped and looked at each other, grinning. They sensed it before they saw it. It was as if the whole atmosphere had changed. The heat dissipated, if only by a fraction and, as they broke through one last layer of underbrush they saw it. It was such a welcome sight they almost didn't believe their eyes.

Suddenly oblivious to their parched tongues and the oppressive heat, they ran towards it. The air was distinctly cooler the closer they got until by the time they reached the water's edge they had forgotten the heat that had been so all consuming only moments before.

Laughing, they stripped down, unconcerned with where their discarded clothing landed as they tossed it behind them in their haste to reach the water. With one final leap, they plunged into the icy water, the breath forced from their lungs by the impact. Surfacing, they gasped like fish out of water, splashing in the cool, almost icy, water.

Bobbing up and down, they moved through the water, bodies sleek and smooth. They swam to where the water fed into the pool. Underneath the waterfall was a large, flat rock. The surface was worn smooth from the relentless pounding of the water and a shallow bowl had formed. It was the perfect place to sit. If they sat forward they could see all around the entire pool, and if they leaned their heads back, the cool water ran down their necks and backs, causing them to gasp and laugh again.

They swam and splashed until their stomachs reminded them it was time for lunch. Climbing out of the water, they dressed and spread their lunch out on a large flat rock. Before they ate, they climbed up on the smooth rocks to the top of the waterfall where they dipped their water bottles into the cool stream of water that cascaded down to the pool below. They drank and refilled several times, relishing in the taste of the cool, clean water.

As they ate, they stretched out on the rocks, letting the sun dry and warm them again. It was amazing how the sun that had been their enemy only a short time ago now provided welcome light and warmth to their chilled skin.

Neither of them wanted to think about how this would be their last trip here. The last time they'd enjoy this place. After this day both of their lives would change forever. Neither of them knew what the future would bring, the only thing either of them knew for sure was that they had this moment together, this moment in their private oasis to bask in the sun and revel in the sweet, cold water.


	6. Chapter 6: Different Worlds

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Different Worlds**

The street was crowded, people bustling along oblivious to others around them as they made their way to their various destinations. He watched from the window of his high rise office building, breath visible on the cold glass, eyes slightly unfocused as he stared at the mass of mostly black and gray trench coats huddled against the chill morning. Several umbrellas, unfurled against the gloomy drizzle that had been teasing and threatening all morning, lent a pop of color among the crowd. His hand moved over his jacket pocket and he forced himself not to fish out the small piece of paper that he knew was there. He could almost feel it, but taking it out again wouldn't help him.

"Mr. Cullen ..." It was Angela, his secretary. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before turning away from the window.

"Yes?" he answered, moving toward his desk.

"Here are the reports you requested yesterday."

"Thank you," he said, taking the stack of papers from her outstretched hand.

Angela nodded and left, closing his office door behind her. Edward settled into his chair behind his desk and began to look through the reports. After a few minutes he was forced to admit that it was no use. He couldn't focus. He couldn't fight it any longer. Digging in his pocket, he grasped the small piece of paper and pulled it out, unfolding it as his hands shook slightly. He read it again for the hundredth time, the words making him smile. She wanted to talk to him.

The words were so like her too. Spontaneous and fun; everything that he wasn't. He wanted to call her, but he knew that would be impossible for the next few hours. He sighed and turned back to the window. The rain had intensified and now he could see nothing but a sea of multicolored umbrellas bobbing up and down as people hurried to seek refuge from the deluge.

Suddenly he sat up a little straighter in his chair, straining to catch a glimpse of what he thought he'd seen a moment ago. His breath caught and his heart began to beat a little faster as he saw her. It was impossible to mistake her weaving her way through the crowd, sans umbrella, dark, wet hair streaming behind her as she made her way toward his building.

The elation he'd felt was immediately replaced by dread as he realized where she was going. She couldn't come here, not now. He silently cursed the spontaneity that had made him smile before. As she disappeared beneath him, he sprang to action.

"Angela!" he called.

"Yes, Mr. Cullen?" She rushed in and he realized his voice must have been panicked. He took a deep breath and worked to calm himself. "I need to go out for a while. Please reschedule all my meetings until this afternoon."

"Yes, sir." She nodded, then paused to look at him curiously. "Is everything alright?"

He waved her concerns away as he gathered his raincoat and umbrella. "I should be back after lunch," he said from the doorway.

He spent the elevator ride to the lobby worrying about whether or not he'd missed her. What if she was already on her way up to his office? What would Angela think about this wild child showing up at his office requesting to see the distinguished Mr. Cullen?

His fears were allayed as the doors slid open and he saw her. She stood, hair dripping, waiting for the elevator. When she saw him, her face melted into a huge grin and his heart sang.

"Edward! I was just coming to see you!" she said.

Quickly, Edward stepped off the elevator, grabbing her elbow and spinning her around. She began to protest, but he cut her off. "Wait please. Not here," he whispered as he steered her back out into the rain.

Once they were on the street, he fumbled with his umbrella, unwilling to sacrifice his carefully arranged hair. She laughed at him and spread her arms wide, spinning and lifting her face to the sky. Umbrella finally opened, he turned to her and sighed.

"Come on, Bella." They needed to put some distance between themselves and his building. She allowed him to pull her underneath his umbrella and lead her down the street.

"Where are we going?" she asked, giggling as he steered her by the elbow.

"I don't know, away," he grumbled, eyes scanning the crowd, anxious to avoid familiar faces.

When they were two blocks away from his building, they ducked under the awning of an empty building and, dropping the umbrella, he finally released her elbow. Rather than moving away from him, she spun on her heel and wrapped her arms around him, her wet hair and clothes dripping onto his heavy overcoat. Her soft lips found his, and in spite of himself, he found himself wrapping his arms around her waist, breathing in the scent of her. Somehow the rain made her smell even more incredible.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, face buried in her neck.

She pulled back and shrugged. "I missed you. Did you get my note?"

He nodded. "Yes, I did. I missed you too, but we've got to be more careful. You can't just  
>leave notes like that. What if someone else had found it first?"<p>

She rolled her eyes and tossed her still damp hair. "I didn't sign it. I didn't even put your name on it. How would anyone have known?"

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. We have to be more careful." He repeated.

It was an argument they'd been having ever since they met two months ago. It was  
>inevitable. They were complete opposites in almost every way, but somehow when they were together, none of their differences seemed to matter. If he was being honest with himself, the fact that she was so carefree and different from himself was one of the things that attracted him to her most.<p>

"Well, what did you want me to do? You hadn't called me back, and I missed you."

Her lower lip jutted out slightly in a pout she knew he couldn't resist. He hummed in response and reached, taking her lip between his thumb and forefinger. She giggled at him and he kissed her again.

She peered out at the still gray sky. "It's stopped raining. We can stop hiding now," she said, punching him playfully.

He grinned and rolled his eyes before he took her hand and led her back onto the street. This time his umbrella swung loosely by his side. The streets were still crowded, but the further away they moved from his office, the more relaxed he became.

"Where shall we go?" he asked.

Bella shrugged. "Wherever you want. I'm yours till tonight."

It was a subtle reminder, but it was enough to darken Edward's mood. He cursed himself silently. How easily he forgot about the real world when he was in her presence. Sensing the shift in his demeanor, Bella squeezed his hand. With a slight start, he came back to her, smiling down at her.

She wasn't fooled. She stopped and faced him, dropping his hand. "What's wrong?" she asked, staring at him intently.

He sighed and tried to avoid her eyes. It didn't work. "It's nothing," he muttered.

"It's not nothing, Edward," she said quietly. "I know what it is. It's the same thing that always ruins things when we're together."

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm trying," he said honestly.

"It's too much," she said, her voice a whisper and barely audible over the sounds of the busy street.

He shook his head. "No, it's not. I promise," he said.

She dropped her gaze to the ground and kicked at a rough patch in the cement, silent for a moment.

He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. He hated knowing that he was hurting her, but he wasn't sure how it could be avoided. After a moment, he continued. "Look, I don't know if it's too much. I honestly don't. But I'll tell you what I do know. I know that when I'm with you I don't care about anything else. I know that since I met you I spend my days thinking about you. You make me happy."

"For now," she muttered.

He sighed again and ran a hand through his hair in mute frustration, destroying its carefully arranged style. "What do you want me to say?" he finally blurted, voice louder than he intended.

She shook her head. "I can't change who I am, Edward. You knew who I was when you met me. It's _why_ you met me," she said, eyes flashing as she lifted her chin in defiance.

"I know," Edward murmured. He couldn't forget that. Although it was all too easy to forget about that part of her life when they were together. It was the time they spent apart that drove him to distraction, wondering where she was, who she was with, whether she was safe. "You can stop anytime, you know," he said quietly. He knew what her response would be before he said it.

"No," she shook her head vehemently. "I'll stop on my own terms, not because someone sweeps in to save me. I don't need saving."

"Bella..." He trailed off. It was a discussion they'd had a thousand times before. It always ended at the same impasse. "I'm not saving you. I just want better for you."

"Edward, even if I stopped what would happen? Would we go public? Are you honestly going to tell me that you'd take me into your circle of friends? Introduce me to your work associates?" She paused and studied him for a moment. His jaw clenched spasmodically. She nodded, his silence all the confirmation she needed. "I don't belong in your world. I never will."


	7. Chapter 7: The Apartment

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**The Apartment**

Her heels made a satisfying clicking sound on the hardwood floor as she crossed the expanse of the massive room. The real estate agent seemed tiny in comparison, even though he was roughly her same height. He struggled to keep her pace.

"As you can see the floors are all hardwood; a rare breed imported from-" He was silenced by her raised hand, wrist laden with expensive bangles which skidded and careened together with the movement.

"I'll take it," she said simply.

"Oh, fantastic. You won't regret it. I knew as soon as I saw this place that it wouldn't last long. I ..." He began to gush, but trailed off when he looked up and saw her shaking her head. It was the first time he'd actually brought himself to make eye contact with her and his heart seemed to momentarily thud to a stop.

"I will take it only if you do not say another word, Mr. Nelson," she said. Her dark hair was pulled into a bun at the back of her head. On anyone else it would have looked austere and even severe, but on her it only served to accentuate the delicate curve of her jaw and make her neck seem even more long and slender. Her eyes were the most amazing color he'd ever seen. Later, he'd recall them as gold, but then decide that he must have been mistaken. No one had gold eyes.

She resumed her brisk stroll around the apartment, but instead of following her, the agent stayed where she left him.

"Let me ask you a question," she called from across the huge room. He remained silent for a moment. Even from across the room he could see the ghost of a smile on her lips as she added, "You may speak, Mr. Nelson." Her tone was patient, almost condescending and would have been offensive coming from someone else. Somehow from her, however, he didn't seem to mind.

"Yes, ma'am." He nodded.

"Tell me about the staircase. It's not original." It was not a question.

Mr. Nelson began shuffling through his notes, his heart suddenly racing. He mumbled something unintelligible and felt his face flush as he searched desperately for anything that would help him. For some reason he wanted very much to make this woman happy.

He started when she spoke again, this time from right next to him. How had she moved so quickly? "Do you have that information in your notes?" she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.

"I don't know, I'm sorry. I can't find anything to say that the staircase is not original. The building was built in 1921. The kitchen was renovated three years ago, but I don't have any information on the staircase. I would assume it's original." He finished with a shrug.

She shook her head. "It's not. I was in this very apartment years ago, and that staircase was not here." She pointed to the massive spiraling staircase, bangle bracelets clinking together again as she moved.

"Oh," he said, surprise evident. "I was unaware that you'd been here before."

She nodded. "Yes, I fell in love with the place then, and I've been keeping a casual eye out for it to become available ever since." She smiled and began to pace the apartment again, this time at a slower pace. He was unsure what to say, so he remained silent.

"Well, no matter about the staircase. I can always have the original one restored later. I remember what it looked like," she said, tapping her temple with a slender finger as she returned to his side.

Relieved, he nodded.

"I assume you'll draw up all the necessary paperwork?" she asked.

Apparently mute, he nodded again.

"Fantastic. I'll contact your office in a few days then to finalize everything. Thank you, Mr. Nelson."

He nodded for a third time, and stuck his hand out to shake hers. She gave it the briefest of fleeting glances, and pursed her lips slightly. He flushed again as he withdrew his hand awkwardly. Before he could manage to say anything else, she was gone.

Relieved to be alone, he sank down to the floor, letting his notes and paperwork rest on his knees. He wasn't sure why she made him so nervous. Was it her beauty, or something more?

The back of his neck was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and as he reached for his handkerchief to wipe it away, his papers slid off his knees and fanned out around him. He glanced down and chuckled. Of course. The very paper that had eluded him minutes ago now stared up at him mockingly.

Out of curiosity, he picked it up. He had been right about the year the building was built: 1921. He smiled and shook his head as he continued reading. She had been right. The staircase was not original. The smile faded from his face a moment later. He struggled to think back to their conversation. Hadn't she said she'd visited this apartment prior to the staircase remodel? Numbers swam in his head as he tried to do the math. That was impossible. The staircase had been remodelled only fifteen years after the apartment was built. That would have been 1936. How could she have visited the apartment prior to the remodel? He was unsure of her exact age, but she couldn't be more than twenty-five or twenty-six.

He sighed and shook his head as he gathered up his papers. He made a note to himself to ask her about it when she returned to his office in a few days to do the final paperwork.  
>Surely she was mistaken.<p> 


	8. Chapter 8: The End

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

The End

"Bella," Jane called. "I'm leaving. Are you coming?"

Bella sighed and closed her eyes, pulling the covers over her head.

"Bella!" Jane's voice was impatient now. Bella heard her footsteps drawing near. "What the hell? What are you doing?" Jane rounded the corner and stood in Bella's room. Bella could hear the toe of her high heeled shoe tapping impatiently.

"Sorry, Jane," Bella murmured from under the blanket. Suddenly the blanket was yanked from Bella's grasp, light flooding her vision, making her blink.

"Why aren't you ready?" Jane demanded.

Bella sighed and pushed herself up into a sitting position. "I'm not going. I don't feel good."

"Bullshit," Jane barked. "It's him again, isn't it?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Dammit, Bella, this is ridiculous. You need to work. Forget about him."

Bella sighed again and flopped back down on her pillow. "I know. I can't. I'm sorry, Jane, I just need some time. Please." Her voice was a whisper and she felt tears pricking the corners of her eyes. She hated herself for crying over him.

Jane's expression turned sympathetic. "Okay, honey." She leaned over and stroked Bella's hair. "Just stay home and rest tonight. It'll be fine. You'll feel better soon."

Bella nodded but didn't say anything. Jane leaned in and kissed her forehead and Bella smiled. Without another word, Jane stood and left. Bella heard the door close and she was alone again. She tried to take a deep breath, but didn't seem to be able to fill her lungs with enough air to feel comfortable. Ever since yesterday it had felt as if there was a crushing weight on her chest. It was over. It was really over. She knew now that she had to face that fact. The past few weeks had been like a fairy tale, but now the dream was over and she needed to come back to reality.

She thought back to two nights ago when she'd decided to show up at his place uninvited. He always told her that one of the things he loved about her was her spontaneity. But when he'd opened the door to find her standing on his doorstep, his face grew hard and she'd known right away she'd made a mistake.

"Bella," he said, his voice barely a whisper as he tried to close the door as much as possible to keep her from seeing inside. But it was too late.

"Edward?" A woman's voice had called from inside.

Bella's face had fallen and she had felt her cheeks growing red. "I'm sorry, I just, I-" she'd stumbled almost incoherently.

"Bella wait-" he'd called. But it was too late. She was already racing down the stairs to the lobby, wishing she'd never come, wishing she'd never met Edward Cullen. The next day he'd called her, but she'd avoided his calls. She didn't want to hear what he had to say. She knew what he had to say. It wasn't like she had any room to be angry with him. What kind of a hypocrite would she be?

Suddenly she regretted her decision to stay home. With a huff, she threw the covers back and stood. She caught her reflection in the mirror. Had she lost weight? Her already small figured seemed somehow smaller. She sighed and made a note to herself to eat something before she left. She glanced at the clock on her bedside table and decided she didn't have time for a shower. Instead, she headed to her closet, pulling on practically the first thing her fingers found.

Minutes later, she was walking down the street, high heels clicking on the concrete as she made her way to where she knew Jane would be.

"Jane!" she called, running the last few steps to catch up with her roommate.

"Bella!" Jane cried as she turned toward her. "You came!" The two girls embraced and Bella felt better already. "It's been slow so far, but I think things will pick up. I'm so glad you changed your mind."

Bella stepped back and nodded. "You were right. He's not worth crying over." She felt a tiny, painful tug somewhere in her chest as she said the words, but she ignored it.  
>It wasn't long before Jane climbed into a passing car and was gone, leaving Bella alone. She leaned against the side of a building and felt her stomach growl. She cursed herself as she remembered that she'd forgotten to eat. She wondered if she could grab something before it got too much later. As she contemplated what to eat, a car slowed to a stop in front of her. She smiled as the driver rolled down his window. He grinned at her. He was decent looking; long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. The car was nice. She'd definitely seen worse.<p>

"Hi," she called as she approached the vehicle.

"How are you doing, beautiful?" he called, nodding at her. "Looking for some company?" he asked, slinging his arm casually over the passenger's seat.

"Sure," Bella smiled, pushing thoughts of food out of her head and switching over to the place in her mind where she went every night.

"Get in, sweetheart." The man's voice was smooth like honey. His teeth glinted in the dim light of his dash and Bella smiled at him again as she placed her hand on the doorknob. As she lifted the handle, she stopped. It was almost as if her hand refused to work. Puzzled, she switched hands. But she still couldn't open the door.

"What's wrong, darlin'?" the man asked.

Bella felt her face grow warm and felt a trickle of sweat run down her neck. What was wrong with her? Suddenly she felt nauseous. Edward's face swam before her and suddenly the idea of spending even a moment with the blond man made her so ill that she stumbled backwards away from the car. Sweating, she wretched into the gutter. The blond man shouted in disgust and his tires squealed as he peeled away from the curb. Tears streamed down Bella's face. What was wrong with her? She made her way into the restroom of a nearby convenient store and splashed cold water on her face. Immediately she felt better, so she returned to her post.

Twice more she approached awaiting vehicles, and twice more she found herself unable to get in. Sick and weak and frustrated, she finally gave up. She took off her stilettos and walked home, the pavement cold but somehow comforting against her bare feet.

Tears blurred her vision as she approached her door. What had she gotten herself into? She thought back to her life before Edward. It hadn't been perfect, but at least her heart hadn't hurt like it did now. At least she'd been able to do her job. Now what the hell was he going to do?

She fumbled to fit her key into the lock, not noticing the small piece of paper that was wedged between the door and the frame. Finally, as it fluttered to the ground, it caught her eye. Heart heavy and weary, she bent down to pick it up. The paper was thick and felt expensive. It was folded in half once and when she opened it, her breath caught in her throat. She read the words over and over as she stood barefoot on her front porch.

"Bella...?"

She jumped as the voice sounded in the dark. She whirled around and her heart clenched when she saw his face as he stepped out of the shadows. A sob caught in her throat. "Is this from you?" she asked, shaking the paper at him. She knew the answer before she saw him nod. "Oh Edward," she cried, launching herself at him. "I couldn't do it. I don't want to do it anymore. Please tell me that you mean it." Her voice was desperate, and deep down she knew there was a chance that she'd misunderstood his words and that she'd be rejected again, but she didn't care. Everything hurt, and she just wanted him to hold her.

"Oh baby." Edward's voice was gruff as he wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her in his warmth and scent. "That's all I wanted to hear. I'm going to take you away from this. All of this. You don't have to do any of that anymore. I love you."


	9. Chapter 9: The Meadow

**The Meadow**

The mist shrouded the meadow, twisting into unfamiliar shapes. It made the place I once loved look strange and foreign. Even the trees, the trees that had been my friends my entire life, looked different. It was as if they didn't recognize me, as if time had changed me into a stranger to them. Or maybe they did recognize me. Maybe they remembered as well as I did.

Despite the foreboding I felt, I continued to walk out of the depths of the forest and into the meadow I once called home. Unfamiliar plants brushed against my legs. How could everything have changed so completely? Even the sun, once a warm golden orb high in the sky, seemed hostile. It was as if the light reached the meadow floor, but the warmth did not.

I tried not to think about how long it had been, but it was impossible to stop my brain from automatically doing the math. Two years. Two years since the fateful day that had changed my life forever. Before I knew it, I was standing in the very spot it had happened. Maybe my subconscious had led me there. There was nothing left to indicate that this was the spot, but every fiber of my being told me that it was.

I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that no physical remains of that day were left behind. What had I expected? To see crimson blood still staining the reeds? To see the meadow grass still trampled down and flattened from the struggle? Of course not. Nature had reclaimed the spot that would always hold such significance for me and made it as unremarkable as the rest of the meadow.

After a moment, I began to pace around the meadow again. Had anyone else been here? Did anyone else know? I couldn't help wondering what had happened in the aftermath of that day. The memories that I'd worked so hard to repress came crashing down on me now. Unable to stand on my own any longer, I sought the comfort of a large boulder. I wiped the sweat away from my forehead with trembling hands as flashes of the day assaulted me. Soon, the sweat that poured down my face was mixed with tears. Why had I come here? This was a mistake.

The snap of a twig had me on my feet in an instant. Without thinking I fled, fear propelling my shaking legs as I sought safety. My heart raced as I tore through the forest back to the comfort of my car. The terror I felt, whether real or imagined, was enough to convince me of the foolishness of my return to the meadow. I had mistaken the once beloved meadow as a place I where I was still welcome. I would not make the same mistake again.


	10. Ch 10: The Night That Changed My Life

**The Night that Changed My Life**

I shiver and pull my coat around me a little tighter as the wind rips though the branches above me, making their dry leaves shudder. Not wanting to be out in the cold any longer than necessary, I fish my keys out of my pocket, readying the right key to fit in the lock. Just as I'm wiggling the key into the lock, I hear another sound. It's faint, but distinct. It's a whine.

I stop and turn, trying to determine where the sound is coming from. For a moment, I see nothing, and then a small movement catches my eye.

"Oh," I say to myself in shock when I see it. It's the scrawniest most pathetic thing I've ever seen. It's fur is matted and wet, and I can tell that underneath it's pathetic coat it's not much more than skin and bones. It has the overgrown paws of a puppy with a lot of growth still ahead of it. But all of these things, the thing that sticks with me the most is its eyes. It has big, beautiful blue eyes.

"What are you doing here?" I ask the poor creature. In answer, it shivers and takes a step toward me. I'm not, nor have I ever been, a dog person, but there's something about this poor thing, especially its piercing eyes, that has me unable to turn away. Besides, it's freezing out here. The thing will surely be dead by morning if I don't let it inside.

"Well, come on then," I tell it, sighing as I motion towards the open door. She looks up at me, and I swear her blue eyes are grateful as she slinks through the door into my warm apartment.

Thirty minutes later, I've determined it's a she. I've got a fire going and she's curled up in front of it on one of my best blankets after lapping down two bowls of milk and eating all of my left over chicken. She looked like she would have eaten more, but I wasn't sure if she would get sick after having gone so long without food.

I settle down on the couch with a book, but after a few minute she begins whimpering in her sleep, and I can't help myself. I go over and curl up next to her on the blanket, wrapping my arms around her and running my fingers around her still damp fur. I know then that I'm in trouble. Apparently I'm now a dog owner.


	11. Chapter 11: Glitter

**Glitter**

"Are you sure about this?" she asked, glancing nervously at the spread of cosmetics on the counter beside her chair.

"Trust me," he said, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly. "You're going to look like a princess."

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "It just all seems like...so much."

He raised one eyebrow. "It is. But we need it. Trust me." He repeated. "Now turn around and close your eyes."

She sat patiently for what felt like forever as he hovered over her. She kept her eyes closed the whole time, so it was difficult to know exactly what he was doing, but she felt her skin being brushed and rubbed and poked and prodded. After while, she started to get fidgety.

"Hold still," he hissed, pulling her chin back to the position he wanted it in. "I'm almost done."

She sighed but said nothing.

Finally, his hands were still. He was finished.

"Okay, take a look."

She opened her eyes and turned towards the mirror.

It was like a dream. She saw the girl staring back at her, but she wasn't sure who it was. It couldn't be her. How could she, Plain Jane herself, look so ethereal? She reached one hand out tentatively and touched the mirror, almost as if she were afraid the image in front of her wasn't real.

Her skin sparkled from the glitter that had been brushed over her pale skin. She'd seen glitter makeup before, but never like this. This was amazing. It was as if a million tiny diamonds had been embedded in her skin. She shifted and the glitter caught the movement, sparkling and dancing in the light. It seemed like every inch of her was covered in glitter. It made her skin look almost other-worldly.

She leaned in closer and examined the patchwork of jewels that had been placed around her left eye. She wasn't sure how they had been affixed to her skin, but she loved the effect they produced.

He was practically hopping up and down with excitement next to her. "Well, what do you think?"

"It's ... perfect," she whispered.


	12. Chapter 12: Ingenue

**Ingénue**

I look up from my coffee as I hear the small bells hanging on the front door chime. I'd heard the bells ring a dozen times before in the twenty minutes or so that I'd been sipping my coffee and reading the paper. Each time I'd glanced up for only a moment, uninterested, before returning to my paper. But this time, I don't seem to be able to look away.

The woman who enters is stunning. She's overdressed for a weekday afternoon in a casual cafe. Her short, red dress is beautiful and fits her like a glove. The dress alone wouldn't make her look particularly out of place, however, it's the accessories she wears that really make her stand out. There's the fur shrug that she wears around her neck, the hat complete with black netted veil, and the huge jeweled bracelets that adorn each of wrists. She reminds me of an ingenue from the silent movie era. I can't take my eyes off her.

She carries a large leather bag over her arm and she looks bored as she waits in line. I watch from the corner of my eye as she orders. The barrista raises one eyebrow at whatever it is that she orders. He disappears into the back room and a moment later, he returns with a small stemmed glass with some sort of pink liquid. I smile to myself. Somehow it would have felt odd for her to just order coffee.

I realize that I'm not the only one who's taken notice of this strange woman. Around the room, people are trying to discretely stare at her. For her part, she seems completely unperturbed by the extra attention she's garnered. Without making eye contact with anyone, she chooses a table by the window and sits down delicately, crossing her legs. As she moves, the large bracelets clink together loudly, attracting even more notice from her fellow cafe goers. She carefully removes her hat and beneath it, her hair is somehow totally undisturbed. It falls in short waves around her chin and frames what I can now see is a gorgeous face.

She takes a delicate sip of her drink and gazes out the window. Her careful expression slips and suddenly she seems sad. I find myself wondering why. It's insanity, but I want to know her better. I resolve that after a few minutes I'll approach her. Even if she shuts me down, at least I'll know I tried. I decide to give her a few minutes to settle in as I work up my courage.

As I wait, my attention is drawn again to her bag. It seems to be moving slightly and I stare at it. Finally, she notices and bends down, pulling on the zipper. Out of the bag hops a small, furry dog. She smiles at it as she pulls it up out of the bag, kissing it's wet nose as she sets it on the table. The other patrons look shocked. Several of them are shaking their heads and clucking their tongues in disapproval. I grin as I watch the woman coo and fuss over the dog. The glimpse of sadness I saw moments ago in her expression is gone as she strokes the tiny dog's chin.

After a few moments, a barrista, not the same one who took her order, approaches her table. He seems intimidated and speaks to her in a low voice. I can't make out their conversation, but by the set of her jaw, and the way he glances nervously at the dog, I can guess. She shakes her head, and points to the dog. Now it's his turn to shake his head and point to the door. She rolls her eyes and her expression is angry. She points to the bag the dog emerged from only minutes ago. He shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head again. No, putting the dog back in the bag will not be enough to satisfy him or the other patrons who clearly disapprove of her companion.

She sets her jaw and glares at him. She hisses a few final words to him and he nods, retreating back behind the counter. Even though he has left her alone, his eyes follow her. She sighs and tosses back the rest of her bubbly, pink drink before standing. Before I realize what is happening, the dog is back in the bag and she's moving toward the door. Panic grips me. I have to stop her. Maybe I can go with her. I make to stand, but I'm frozen in my seat. My hands grip my newspaper uselessly, and I can't seem to move. I open my mouth to call out to her, but before I know what's happened, the door bells are chiming again, and in a flurry of red and fur, she and her dog are gone.


	13. Chapter 13: The Fan

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**The Fan**

Rosalie sighed and scrubbed a hand over her face. As her fingers slid down her cheeks she opened her eyes and peered at her reflection in the mirror, watching the trail of pink the pressure from her tired fingers left behind. Tired. That was the perfect word to describe her. She felt tired from the tips of her blood red fingernails to the soles of her perfectly pedicured feet.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of the rose again and a chill ran through her. At first glance it seemed so innocent, romantic even. A single fresh red rose in a crystal bud vase. For a split second when she'd approached her vanity and saw it sitting there, she'd smiled. Until she realized who it was from. There was really only one possibility. The smile had slid from her face and her hand had trembled as she'd read the card, the simple sentences burning themselves into her brain. How had he gained access to her dressing room? She shoved the thought aside and turned to the task at hand.

The lights that rimmed the mirror seemed brighter than usual, almost brutal in their intensity. They were meant to mimic the lights on the stage, and Rosalie couldn't help thinking that if that was true, she was in trouble. Today the lines on her face seemed more pronounced than usual and the bags under her eyes darker than normal. She glanced down at the top of her vanity. It was littered with the various cosmetics she used to create the illusion that sold out audiences nightly. She sighed and surveyed the giant cup full of brushes of all shapes and sizes before selecting the one she needed. She picked up a bottle of foundation. Pushing down her feelings of exhaustion and despair, she focused on transforming herself into her alter ego.

In the background her laptop chimed, alerting her to an incoming email. Pausing for a moment, she moved her fingers over the mouse pad and the screen hummed to life. A few clicks later and she was staring in disbelief at the email she'd received, those same simple sentences burning themselves into her brain once again. How was this possible? How had he accessed her personal email? Another chill ran through her. With a surge of anger, she slammed the laptop shut and returned to her makeup. With a trembling hand, she selected another brush and got back to work, focusing on making her breathing as even as possible as she worked.

Slowly, her face began to look a little less haggard; the circles under her eyes a little less dark as she applied layers upon layers of creams and powders. Again, her laptop chimed, but this time she ignored it. When it sounded a third time, her hand shook slightly, causing the thick line of black eyeliner to swerve slightly. She cursed under her breath as she snatched a tissue up and tried to repair the damage.

As she was affixing thick black eyelashes on top her own thin ones, her phone rang, causing her to jump slightly. After staring at the screen for a moment, she answered it. The voice on the other end was like velvet; strange and familiar all at once. She felt her heart jump into her throat as he uttered the same words that she'd stared at twice now. Pulse pounding, she slammed the phone down onto the vanity, ending the call with the push of a button. She made a note to herself to get her phone number changed first thing the next morning.

Shaken, she returned her attention to her reflection and finished applying the eyelashes. Sitting back in her seat, she examined her reflection again. It really was an amazing transformation. If only her audiences could see the difference. If only they could see what was under all the layers of make up and paint. If only they knew the real person left behind when the lights dimmed and the curtain came down.

Surrounded by the silent calm of her empty dressing room, Rosalie felt a little more calm. It wasn't the first time she'd dealt with something like this. It would pass, just like the rest of them had. His fascination would die down, and she'd hear from him less and less until he disappeared altogether. All she had to do was ignore him.

A knock sounded at her door to remind her it was time and five minute later she was standing on stage, blinking under the bright lights. It didn't seem to matter how many times she stood beneath their glare, she never could get used to their blinding intensity. The time went by in a blur. Before she knew it, the show was over and she was back in her dressing room. She panted slightly, a sheen of sweat coated her face and arms. She pressed a water bottle to her forehead, her eyes fluttering closed at the cool sensation.

The knock at her door puzzled her. Most of the other performers had already gone home and the cleaning crew wouldn't be in for at least another hour. Most people knew Rosalie usually stayed late and she was very rarely disturbed after the show ended. With the frantic rush of the pre-show commotion, she revelled in the relaxed silence of the deserted theater late at night.  
>She called out her permission for the visitor to enter. The door swung open slowly and she stared in disbelief at her visitor. How was he here? How did he get back here? She hadn't seen him in his usual spot in the front row tonight and she'd assumed his interest had begun to wane already.<p>

Clearly it had not. His interest was anything but waning as he walked towards her, one hand still on the doorknob as he locked eyes with her. She heard the door click closed and something silver and shiny caught his eye as it glinted from his hand. She took a deep breath and locked eyes with him, lifting her chin in silent defiance as he moved closer to her. She had no idea what would happen, but she knew one thing for sure: she wouldn't go down without a fight.


	14. Chapter 14: Home

**Home**

She circled the room again. She didn't need to. She had practically every square inch of the empty room memorized. From the warm neutral walls to the soft new carpet, she knew this room. This was her room. The thought didn't quite register. Her brain seemed unable to wrapping itself around the concept. She owned this room and the three others attached to it.

Of all the rooms in her new home, this was her favorite. She already knew just where she'd put her bed: under the window so that she could feel the breeze on her face each night as she drifted off to sleep. She'd wake up each morning, the sun warm on her cheek. Letting herself get carried away by her fantasy, she laid down on the floor where she knew her bed would soon be, the sunlight streaming in through the window. She sighed, enjoying the feel of the carpet beneath her fingertips and her cheek as she rolled over, shielding her eyes with the back of her hand.

Pure bliss surged through her. She'd done it. Everyone had doubted her and said it wasn't possible, but she'd done it. She had a place to call her own now; a place that was all hers.


	15. Chapter 15: Chelsea

**Chelsea**

I sighed as I closed the hotel room door, leaning against it for a moment before moving further into the room. I felt tired, weary down to my bones, but when I thought about the wonderful footage I'd captured, it all seemed worth it. My heart skipped a beat as I remembered the way the sun had fallen perfectly across the street, bathing the produce laden carts in its golden glow. I'd sat for hours snapping roll after roll of film as people came and went, bartering loudly, tasting, sniffing, and sometimes even buying.I knew the pictures would turn out beautifully.

I smiled as I shrugged my pack from my shoulder, tugging it open and peering inside. Gingerly, I began to unpack the contents. I laid my camera on the bed first. I loved this camera so much I'd even named it. Chelsea I called her. I'd had it since college, and hoped to have it for many more years. My colleagues often made fun of me for hanging onto such an antiquated piece of equipment. I was practically the only photographer in the business who still used actual film. I owned newer, more technologically advanced cameras; most of them gifts given by optimistic friends in the hopes of encouraging me to enter the twenty-first century. But none of them lived up to what my old Chelsea could do. And no one could argue with the results either. Four major magazine covers this year. We'd travelled around the world and back. Chelsea and I were good together.


	16. Chapter 16: We Were Young

**We Were Young**

It was still summer, but only just barely. The time of year where fall is just around the corner, waiting, and you can smell it in the air and feel it in the bite of early mornings. The time of year when the aroma of fresh baked bread from the corner bakery seems to somehow travel a little further and make your stomach growl a little louder. We'd always stop in on our way home in those predawn hours. Looking back, I don't think they were even open, but the baker would always welcome us in and sell us fresh rolls that burned our fingers and mouths.

We were young and carefree almost to the point of recklessness. We smoked and drank with abandon, knowing our time was borrowed anyway. We didn't belong in the city, but we lived like we did, spending our nights under the pulsing neon lights and the heavy beat of a thousand nameless, smoke-filled clubs. We spent our days behind sunglasses sitting broodingly at the tables of street cafes sucking down gallons of coffee as we tried to smoke our hangovers away. We thought we owned the world, the group of us, and for that summer at least, we did.

I remember that day like it was yesterday. You showed up at my door way too early and entirely too cheerful for that hour. You were alone, and I glared at you, but you wouldn't be dissuaded. I was going to come with you, and that was that. Everyone else was sleeping, and I wanted to be too, but finally, I gave in, grabbing my jacket on the way out as you pulled me out the door and down the stairs.

My jaw fell open when I saw it. I rolled my eyes and tried to cause a scene, but you just laughed. A bicycle. You were serious, and you wanted me to ride it with you. You climbed on and rode around me in little circles as I huffed and stomped my feet. Laughing, you stopped, balancing the bike on your hip as you grabbed me around the waist and pulled me onto the bike. Breathless and slightly dizzy at this new proximity, I giggled and relented, climbing on behind you.

It had rained earlier, probably when it was still dark, and the streets were still dark and slick. A little afraid, I found myself clinging to your waist as the chill wind caught my hair and threw it back. It seemed like we rode forever, winding in and out of morning traffic and finally turning down a small, deserted alleyway. You slowed and I hopped off, shoving my hands deep into the pockets of my jacket.

It was awkward for a moment. We'd never been alone, away from the group before. You glanced at me, almost shy in the way you raised one eyebrow at me. But then, before I knew it, you were there, next to me, pressing against me, your breath warm against my neck. You whispered in my ear and I melted.

It was over before it started, it seemed. Both of us smoothing our clothes and glancing around awkwardly before we climbed back on the bike and rode back. There was one last tender kiss before I waved goodbye and climbed the stairs back to my apartment. Once inside, I crept quietly to the window and smiled when I saw you still standing on the street, bike braced against your thighs as you gazed up at my window. I waved and you grinned and waved back before riding away. I crept back to bed with a smile on my face.

That was the last time I saw you. I learned later that day that you'd flown home that morning. I never told anyone else about our ride together. Everyone had slept while we were gone, and no one had even noticed my absence. Our morning together would always remain our secret. And no matter what happened after that day, I could never bring myself to feel sad, or regret it. After all, we were young.


	17. Chapter 17: Surprise

Surprise

"So, are you sure?" he asked.

"Yep," she said staring at the ceiling.

"How many-"

"Three," she replied, cutting his question off almost before it began.

He sighed and then there was silence for a moment. Neither of them knew what to say. He absentmindedly kicked the bed's foot board while she fidgeted with the sheets.

"Wow," he said.

"Yeah, wow..." she echoed.

He propped himself up on one elbow so he could look at her face. "Are you...happy?" he asked.

She thought for a moment, and while she thought, he studied her face. Finally, a slow smile parted her lips. "I think so. It's kind of early to tell, and I might be in shock, but yes. I think I'm happy."

He watched her for a moment longer before nodding. "Good." He tucked his shoulder and rolled onto his back again, this time taking her arm with him so that his head was resting in the crook of her arm. "If you're happy, I'm happy." He took the threads of one of the woven bracelets she wore between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it up and down.

She looked at him, surprised. "Really? I mean, we never really talked about this before. I didn't think you'd be happy."

He shook his head as they both shifted onto their sides facing each other. "No, I'm happy. I mean, I figured this would happen eventually, just not...now. But it's okay. I'm happy."

She grinned and leaned closer, kissing his nose. "I love you."

He smiled and kissed her back. "I love you too." He paused for a moment, then placed one hand on her flat stomach. "And I love you, too."


	18. Chapter 18: Wheels

Wheels

There's nothing like it. I don't care what anyone else says. There's absolutely nothing like the feel of the wind through your hair and rushing across your cheek as you careen down the street, a thin piece of wood and four wheels the only thing between you and the pavement. And the feeling when you catch air and land a trick perfectly? Best feeling in the world.

Pain? Pain is nothing to a skater. We fall off our boards so many times you get so it doesn't even register anymore. We're always covered in bumps and bruises. It's almost like a badge of honor in a way. Scars especially.

Also, I don't know if anyone will ever admit this, but there's a small part of every skater who likes being misunderstood. We like that people give us sideways glances when they see us on the street. There's a certain rush that comes from knowing that we could be busted at any moment and thrown out. People always yell that they're going to call the cops, but they rarely do.

Being a skater is like being a member of a whole other world, if only for just a few hours each day. When we're on our boards, whether we're riding down the sidewalk, or trying to master adrenaline pumping new tricks, we feel like the world makes sense. You know what I mean?


	19. Chapter 19: Daydreams

Daydreams 

Sometimes I get lost. In a spare quiet moment when the dryer is humming quietly and the dishes are done, I sit back and close my eyes and let myself get lost. I think about what it would be like to spend my days sitting quietly on the bank of some far away river with nothing more to do than watch the sun arc across the sky and listen to the rush of the water moving over the smooth rocks. I can almost see it. The sun streams through the clouds and reflects almost blindingly off the water and the cool breeze rustles the leaves of the nearby trees. Sometimes in my daydream I have a small boat, or even just a fishing pole that dangles lazily from my arm. I don't care if I get a bite or not. It's just there to add to the whole experience.

Then the dryer buzzes or the baby cries, awake from her afternoon nap, and I'm brought back to reality. Dreams of lazy rivers and sun dappled trees are replaced by the reality of carpools and menu planning and soccer practices. I smile wistfully to myself. I'd get bored lying by a river all day anyway.


	20. Chapter 20: Weekends

Weekends 

Weekends are becoming my favorite part of the week. I love that we wake up to the sound of each other's breathing as we slowly stir, arms and legs tangled and intertwined. We stumble to the kitchen and I start a pot of coffee while you grab the newspaper off the front porch, looking left and right to make sure no one sees you in just your boxers. Then we cradle our warm mugs in our hands and climb carefully back into bed, dividing the paper up as we huddle under the covers for another hour or two, or three. That's the best thing about our weekends: there's no schedule. We just do what feels right.

Later, when our stomachs remind us that we should eat, we smile at each other as we throw the covers back once again and trudge back to the kitchen. It seems like there's always leftovers or last night's take-out to be found in the fridge. You fix us plates and I grab an old blanket from the closet, spreading it out over our still unmade bed. This time when we make our trip back to bed it's with piping hot plates in hand. We sit cross-legged on the blanket, and our bed becomes a picnic table.

Stomachs full, we pile our plates into the sink, unconcerned about when they'll get cleaned, or who will clean them. Those are the concerns of a weekday, not our weekends.  
>Sometimes we feel like showering, hot steam running down our backs, other days we skip the shower; deciding instead to climb back into bed to either read our favorite books or finish our newspaper.<p>

When the rays of sunlight that filter through our bedroom window become the rusty orange of early evening, we bring out the movies, selecting one from the collection we've amassed over the years. There aren't any that we haven't seen at least a dozen times. We can, and do, recite the lines from memory, but it doesn't matter. They're timeless, sort of like I wish our weekends were. Soon enough they'll be other demands; kids, soccer games, oil change appointments, trips to the grocery store; but for now, these are our weekends.


	21. Chapter 21: Escape

Escape 

She sighed and leaned her head against the windowpane. The glass was cool against her cheek and the warmth of her breath created a hazy mist that obscured her view. She reached up and swiped a hand across the glass, clearing away the moisture. However, her view wasn't improved much. The train was almost completely shrouded in a thick, swirling mist.

The landscape that zoomed past her window was breathtakingly beautiful, but the fog made her uneasy, as if she'd be unable to see something, or someone, approaching until it was too late.

She glanced nervously around the crowded compartment. She'd already memorized the faces of everyone present, but she studied them again, partly from nerves, and partly out of habit. As she finished, she sighed, looking down at her watch. She wondered if they'd reach their destination on schedule. The train had left the station a few minutes late, something that had nearly sent her into a full fledged panic, but they'd made good time since then.

Her stomach growled and she wondered if she could chance grabbing a sandwich from the cart at the next stop. She tapped her foot nervously for a moment, then slid it backward until she felt the bag she'd shoved under her seat. Her nervous fingers fidgeted with the zipper as she pulled out her wallet and surreptitiously counted her money again. There was no need. She knew exactly how much money she had down the the last cent. It was money she'd scrimped and saved and stashed away for weeks in preparation for this day.

Despite her constant fear, she must have dozed off at some point, because when she opened her eyes again, the train was slowing and pulling into the station. The fog was less dense here than it had been out in the open country, but it still swirled ominously around the train as it slowed to a stop. Her fellow passengers began to stir, many of them preparing to depart. She envied them their looks of boredom. For most of them today was a day like any other. Just another leg of their daily commute. One more exercise in tedium. For her, it was the flight of her life. Everything was riding on this day, this trip. She'd painstakingly planned out every aspect of this day, every detail, and now there was no turning back.

She yawned and stood, stretching quickly before retrieving her bag from beneath her seat. Her stomach growled again and she decided that if she was fast, she'd have enough time to grab a bite to eat before the train pulled away from the station again.

Once off the train, she glanced around nervously. Every stranger that passed her made her jump a little. She pulled her sweatshirt tighter and tried to melt into the crowd. She was relieved when she reached the sandwich cart and there was no line. She quickly mumbled her order and waited impatiently as the man prepared her sandwich. It seemed to take forever. Behind her, the train emitted a shrill whistle, warning passengers of its impending departure. Finally, the man placed the sandwich in her hand. She turned and jogged back to the train.

The gray mist still swirled around her, and she had one foot on the platform when she felt the hand on her arm.

"Don't make a scene."

It was impossible to describe the complicated mixture of emotions that flooded her at the sound of his voice. It was a voice she'd know anywhere. A voice that stopped her dead in her tracks. Her hands became unable to grasp anything anymore, and her sandwich fell to the ground, lost and forgotten in the swirling mist.

He pulled her back away from the train and propelled her along the platform. She kept her head down and followed him without incident. It would do her no good to resist anyway. If there was anything that time had taught her, it was that compliance always yielded the quickest, least painful outcome.

The train whistle sounded for a final time and the train began to move again, pulling slowly away from the station, unaware and unsympathetic to the fact that she was no longer on board. She watched it leave as silent tears began to stream down her cheeks. All of her planning, all of her thorough preparation had come to this. She'd been so cautious, as careful as she knew how to be, yet it was still all for naught.

She wanted to let the despair she felt take over. She wanted to give into it, to scream and yell and stomp her feet, but she couldn't afford to feel that much. She couldn't afford to have emotions anymore. So instead, she did what she always did. She swiped at her tears, drying them on the sleeve of her jacket with her free arm. She took a deep breath, and she replaced all of the feelings; the hope, the despair, the anger, the pain, even the strange relief she'd felt; and she pushed them back down to the tiny place deep inside where they lived. Once they were safely locked away, she let the numbness spread.

She was good at this part. She'd done it countless times before. If there was one thing she knew how to be, it was numb. By the time they reached his waiting truck in the parking lot, her face was a blank, unreadable mask. He seemed pleased by this. He smiled at her as he opened her door. She did not smile back. She knew what was coming, and even the numbness couldn't keep all the pain out.


	22. Chapter 22: Colors

Colors

Colors can evoke such strong emotions. There are happy colors like orange and red and bright, sunny yellow. Those are the colors that, when you see them, make you want to smile. They're used in advertising to send a message of cheer and joy.

Then there's colors like purple and blue that make you take a deep breath and let it out slowly while you reflect on your life. They're calming, mellow colors.

Then there are the colors that seem sort of neutral; greens and browns and and lots of shades of white. Those ones seem to take on the mood of whatever color they're paired with. Sort of like chameleon colors.

Isn't it fascinating how colors can send such a strong message? Or how they can trigger such intense memories? Take green, for example. Whenever I see a particular tint of green, I can't help but be reminded of my grandma's old kitchen floor. It was made up of this green linoleum with flecks of gold in it, and I remember spending hours playing on that floor while grandma stood at the kitchen sink doing any number of tasks; snipping beans, washing dishes, cooking dinner; always humming a tuneless song while she worked.

And the color pink? There's a certain shade that always reminds me of my first boyfriend. He brought me a single pink carnation on our first date. He gave it to me, palms sweating, hands shaking, and I thought that he hung the moon and stars. For years afterwards, long after our relationship had bloomed and faded, that carnation hung upside down on the mirror on my dresser. The brilliant pink had faded to a soft, dusty shade, but I didn't throw it out until I went away to college.

Then there's the color gray. It always reminds me of drizzly, rainy days. The ones where the sky looks like it's been wrapped in someone's old gray nightgown; the fuzzy flannel kind. Gray reminds me of curling up in front of a crackling fire with a good book while the wind outside whips the branches against the window. But no matter how dark the gray sky turns, I'm safe inside my nice warm house.

Colors are amazing. Nothing else can set a mood or convey an emotion as quickly or efficiently. What would it be like to live in a world without color? To live without the brilliant blues and sparkling purples; or soft pinks and deep sensual reds? Things just wouldn't be the same.


	23. Chapter 23: Everything

Everything

She was everything I wasn't; everything I wanted to be, but couldn't. I remember the first day I met her. I was the new girl, scared, awkward, and completely alone. She'd sauntered up to my empty lunch table, oozing confidence, and plopped right down. She didn't even ask me if it was okay if she sat there. She must have known I wouldn't object. Why would I? I'd only gone to that school for half a day, but I could already tell she ruled the school. From that day on we were a matched set. Wherever one went, the other was not far away. It wasn't hard to see why she was so popular. Her personality was magnetic and her laughter contagious. She was the kind of girl that others, male and female, clamoured to be around. We clicked right away, spending hours talking about anything and everything.

At school, everyone knew her. We'd walk down the hall and people would call out her name or wave at her, and before long, people would call out my name too. It was a strangely powerful feeling that I'd never before experienced, and it was all because of her. She made me feel good about myself, and she was generous almost to a fault. She insisted that we share wardrobes, even though my own was a meager fraction of hers, and not nearly as fashionable. When I tried to explain this she just rolled her eyes and dismissed me with a wave of her hand.

She came from what I thought was the perfect family. I was the only child of a single mother who worked two jobs to pay the bills, so I was fascinated with her family dynamic. Her dad made a ton of money doing something that required him to wear a business suit and work in an office each day. Her mother was a stay at home mom and kept an immaculate home. I was invited to dinner most nights and I'd always marvel at the home-cooked spread that she'd lay out. Her little brother was just as I thought a little brother should be: annoying and always under foot, but ultimately adorable and lovable. The funny thing was, as much as I envied her family, as much as I wished her parents were my parents as I sat alone in our crappy apartment reheating a frozen dinner and waiting for my mom to finish her double shift at the refinery; she couldn't stand them. She'd catch my eye and make a face whenever her mom or dad spoke, no matter how innocuous the conversation was. Then she'd wrinkle her nose and we'd giggle quietly as if we shared some sort of hilarious private joke. I guess the grass really is greener on the other side.

All through high school she dated the same boy. He was equally as perfect; handsome, football star, came from another wealthy family; and it seemed only natural for them to be together. Looking back, I think he was genuinely good to her. I don't know if he loved her, but he cared about her deeply. He did all the things a good high school boyfriend is supposed to do: flowers and chocolates on Valentine's Day, elaborate corsages and limousine rides for all of the big school dances. She never sat home on the weekends. He was always taking her out. Her parents thought the sun rose and set on that boy.

The first few months of being friends with her I thought I'd won some sort of lottery. How could I be so lucky as to have attracted the prettiest, most popular girl in school to be my friend? It seemed like because of her, I was making other friends, and people were definitely beginning to take note of me. I couldn't remember ever being so happy. One Friday night, like so many others, we went to the football game. Her boyfriend was playing, so she'd dutifully showed up to support him. As we walked across the stands, people called our names, and we found ourselves settled in among a large group of friends. It was loud and crowded, so I'm not sure exactly what happened, but it wasn't long before I noticed she was no longer sitting next to me. I waited for a while, but she didn't return. When the second half began and she still wasn't back, I began to grow concerned and went to go look for her. I found her under the bleachers, skirt hiked up, legs wrapped around some no-named greasy-haired kid in a leather jacket that was two sizes too large.

She saw me, and I'll never forget the look in her eyes. It wasn't embarrassment, she didn't blush and push him away, she just looked at me as if she was daring me to say something or to judge her. Shocked, I stumbled wordlessly back to my seat. The kid hadn't seen me, and she returned a few minutes later. She never said a word about it, and I was too embarrassed to bring it up. That was the first tiny crack I saw in her carefully crafted facade.

That summer her family took their annual vacation to the shore and invited me to tag along. The prospect of spending the summer alone cooped up in our stuffy little apartment didn't appeal to me, so I agreed and packed up my swimsuit and sun tan oil.

Her family's beach house was gigantic and we were free to do pretty much whatever we wanted all summer. We'd throw our bikinis on in the morning and spend most of the day on the beach, either walking up and down the boardwalk, or lying on giant fluffy towels soaking in the sun's rays. At night we'd talk for hours in the room we shared. We'd discuss our hopes for the future, and I was always puzzled about her lack of concrete plans. We were about to start our senior year, and all she'd ever do when asked about her post high school plans was shrug and say something noncommittal about good colleges out west. When I'd ask her if she'd applied anywhere yet, she'd laugh and assure me that she had plenty of time to get serious about college. Then she'd artfully change the subject.

One night I'd gone to bed early with a cold. I was awoken a few hours later to her scrambling clumsily through our bedroom window. She reeked of alcohol and something else I couldn't quite identify, and her eyes were glazed and unfocused as she smiled vaguely at me. I jumped up and helped her into bed. As I pulled off her sandals, she began to cry. When I asked her what was wrong, she covered her face with her hands and rolled onto her side. No amount of cajoling would get her to open up to me. Just as I was about to give up, she rolled back over and looked at me. Her eyes were wide and I could tell she was struggling to focus on my face. Wordlessly she pressed something into my hand. I opened my palm to find a tiny, perfect dried seahorse. I tried to ask her what it was and why she'd given it to me, but she was gone again. Soon she was snoring softly and I never asked her about it again. As she slept, I placed the mysterious little seahorse in the side pocket of my bag.

Our senior year passed in sort of a blur. Things were pretty quiet and I had settled nicely into my new life. She still wouldn't talk about colleges, so I quietly submitted my applications to local community colleges. My grades weren't stellar enough to expect any scholarships, and there was no way my mom could afford to send me to a four year university. Though I never mentioned it, I was secretly frustrated and even angry that my friend was throwing away her chance to go to college. I felt sure that her parents would have supported her if she'd shown any interest at all.

There were a few more strange incidents that year, but nothing too big. I caught her with another nameless boy; this time in the backseat of her car, and there were a few times that she showed up at my apartment late at night, that same strange odor clinging to her. Luckily my mom was always working when she came over. She'd curl up in my bed while I'd lay a blanket on the floor, and in the morning, she'd always act as if nothing had happened, as if this was just a normal teenage girl sleepover. Then, one Saturday afternoon she showed up at my door. It was one of the rare days when my mom was actually home. She'd seemed almost frantic as she'd pulled me into my bedroom and quickly closed the door. She tossed her car keys at me and I looked at her questioningly. She had an almost new car, a senior gift from her parents, but I'd never driven it before. She told me she needed a ride, but refused to tell me where to, or why she couldn't drive herself. Finally, I shrugged and agreed. I called to my mom on the way out, and soon we were buckled into her car, me in the driver's seat, her looking slightly sick on the passenger's side.

As we started to drive, she finally told me where she needed to go, and I'm fairly certain I turned a similar shade of green as her. Since then, I've often wondered what would have happened if I'd refused on that day; if I'd simply gotten out of the car and walked back upstairs to my apartment. Most likely she'd have found someone else. She had no shortage of people wanting to earn her favor. But I didn't say no. I took a deep breath, grabbed her hand, and I drove. I didn't let go of her hand the entire time. I helped her fill out the paperwork, I walked her back into that tiny room. They tried to make me wait outside, but I refused. She cried, I cried, but I never let go of her hand. Afterward, I helped her home and into bed. She was weak and trembling, her cheeks pale and tear stained, her eyes red-rimmed. Her mom was worried, but I assured her that she'd probably just caught some sort of bug. She didn't come back to school for three days.

Graduation came and went, and she invited me back to her parents' beach house. I still don't know what made me decline, exactly, but I invented some excuse about having to get ready for college. I knew as she eyed me she knew it was a lie, but she just shrugged and nodded. The summer flew by, and before I knew it, college started. I immersed myself in my classes, and suddenly I realized that it no longer mattered if I was popular or pretty. It mattered that I was smart and hard-working. I found myself excelling in this new world of professors and lectures in ways I'd never known possible. College was a whole new experience, so different from high school, and I loved it.

We saw less and less of each other until one day I realized I hadn't seen or talked to her in over a month. Part of me felt like I should call her, but part of me couldn't bring myself to care. I remember sitting on my bed, textbooks spread out around me, phone in hand as I tried to think of what we could possibly talk about.

I didn't call her, and it was another few months before we happened to run into each other at a party. She looked like hell. She was hanging on the arm of some guy with greased back hair and eyes that never seemed to stay in one place for very long. Her hair was matted and disheveled, her makeup smudged, and it looked like she hadn't slept in days. Our greeting was stumbling and awkward and I don't think either of us were disappointed when the crowd moved us in opposite directions and we lost sight of each other.

That was the last time I saw her. Time marched on and I thought about her occasionally; wondered how she was, especially when I hit big milestones like when I graduated from college and my wedding, but I had no idea how to get in contact with her. I ran into her little brother a few years later at a local coffee shop, all grown up and just as charming as ever. I asked about her, and he ducked his head and shrugged. It seemed I wasn't the only one who'd lost contact with her. No one in their family had seen or heard from her for a couple of years. I hugged him and gave him my number and assured him that I'd love to see him or his parents anytime. He grinned almost shyly and thanked me. He seemed genuine and I felt sorry for them.

Later that night I pulled a small shoebox off the top shelf of my closet. I fished around inside until my fingers closed around the tiny dried seahorse. As I turned it over in my hand I felt a sad sort of nostalgia as memories of her came flooding back to me. She was the girl who had everything, and somehow she'd managed to throw it all away.


	24. Chapter 24: The Dream

The Dream  
><span> 

I woke up gasping, thrashing under the covers that stuck to my sweat-drenched skin. My eyes whirled around, still trying to make sense of what they saw. The dark shapes of my bedroom furniture loomed menacingly in the darkness of my room.

My heart still pounding, I laid back against my pillow, pushing my damp hair off my forehead. It had been a dream, only a dream. I wanted to close my eyes, but I knew if I did the images from my dream would flash behind my eyelids. Instead I stared at the ceiling, but it didn't seem to matter. Within a matter of moments, the dark images from the dream flashed in my mind's eye. The heavy, dark clouds; the strangely menacing stone pathway; and most disturbing: the birds.

I wasn't sure why the birds were the worst part of the inexplicable dream, but they were somehow terrifying. They were huge and black and circled endlessly around me as I travelled down the stone path. Occasionally one of them swooped down so close that I could feel the woosh of their wings against my face as I ducked to avoid them.

I continued to move down the stone path, though I knew not where it led. As I walked, the clouds began to swirl around my feet, forming a thick fog that made it impossible to see my path. My feet slowed, but didn't stop. Soon, the fog began to clear and I found myself standing in front of a huge gilt-framed mirror. In its reflection I could see the birds that continued to swoop down and circle. I could see the dark clouds too. But as I looked, I realized the one thing I couldn't see was my own reflection.

Wordlessly, I screamed and the mirror faded away, morphing into the dark familiar shapes of my bedroom.

My heart finally began to slow, and I felt my eyes growing heavy once again. Yet even as I drifted back to sleep, something about the dream nagged at my consciousness, pulling and gnawing at me. It was just a dream, I told myself sleepily. Just a dream.


	25. Chapter 25: You See Me

You See Me  
><span>

You see me. You see beneath my carefully crafted facade. You're the only one who really sees me. Each day I perform a carefully constructed set of rituals designed to hide the real me from the outside world. When I'm finished, the product is passable, and I present a brave face to the world. But each day, when I come home to you, you patiently chip away at my shell until the real me stands before you. Soft and scared and vulnerable and absolutely terrified of being unlovable. And you take me and fold me into your arms and remind me that you love me more than I ever thought possible.

I don't deserve you. I'm a study in imperfection. But somehow, you don't seem to care. You see my blemishes and scars, both outside and in, and embrace them.

As hard as I've tried to push you away, you're still here. You love me, and you fight for me, and you don't put up with any of my bullshit. You see me. You love me for who I am.


	26. Chapter 26: The Memory Box

The Memory Box  
><span>

I smile as I look down at the picture, memories washing over me in a flood. I remember the day that photo was taken as if it were yesterday. I remember thinking that nothing would ever change for us. He was my best friend and I was his. We spent all our free time together, we practically lived at each other's houses.  
>I run my thumb over the picture and sigh. A thought occurs to me and I sit up suddenly, reaching for the old box full of forgotten photos and memorabilia. My heart skips a beat as I rummage around inside the box for a moment, groping blindly. Finally, my fingers close around it, and I smile again as I retrieve it from its long forgotten hiding spot. The carousel he gave me that day.<br>I remember it seeming much larger the last time I held it, but then again, it probably was much larger for the small hands that received it eagerly that day. It had been my birthday. My mom had thrown an elaborate party, and he'd been there. I remember thinking how odd it was when everyone had gathered around and watched me open presents that there'd been no brightly wrapped package from him. But he'd waited until after, until the party was over to give his gift to me. I'd been walking him home, and he'd left me waiting in the street while he dashed inside his house, returning a moment later, breathless and clutching the unwrapped carousel.

"This is for you," he'd mumbled, thrusting it into my hands and blushing nervously.

I'd grinned at him and my child size heart had swelled.

He'd stared at me a moment longer before quickly leaning in and planting a quick kiss on my lips. Our first kiss.

I sit back on the bed, sighing as I turn the little ceramic carousel over in my hands, reflecting back on everything that had happened since that day. How terribly wrong things had gone. Big fat tears fall from my eyes and threaten to ruin the photograph.

If only we could have stayed that young and innocent. We could have avoided all of the mistakes and regrets that now plague me daily. I wonder where he is now, and whether he thinks of me like I think of him. I wonder if he still has his copy of this photograph. I like to think that he does and maybe somewhere, at sometime, he pulls it out, runs his thumb over it and smiles as he remembers me.


End file.
